The Great Anglo-Norman Bake-Off
by pridefulmalady
Summary: RH/GBBO Cross-over crackfic one-shot. It's wooden spoons at dawn as Team Outlaw and Team Castle face off in a head-to-head contest to see who can make the best pie. Who will tell the Sheriff that there is no actual prize money? And, Much, are you sure that's chicken? (Parody set roughly between 2x02 and 2x03)


_***Dedicated to my little sister, Victoria, for not only getting me into Great British Bake-Off but for also prompting me to do this when we were washing up. Sorry for keep talking during GBBO and making you resort to subtitles._

_Quick note. This is my first crack-fic, at least of BBC Robin Hood, so an OOC warning may be needed at times. This was just a silly idea my sister and I had, hastily written late at night. Also, just to note, I very rarely write in present tense, preferring past tense. This little one-shot therefore may sound a little funny (and not in a good way) at times. I really need to start practicing my tenses… _

_The characters from this belong to BBC Robin Hood other than the ones obviously based off of GBBO people. Whilst I've tried to stay true to character for most of the RH characters, I know my characterisation of the GBBO people is certainly off. This is probably not helped by my incessant chatting throughout GBBO. Please just bear with it._

_Anyway, thank you for reading and please enjoy!***_

**Great Anglo-Norman Bake Off**

The sun is just creeping up to mid-way in the sky over Sherwood Forest as the weary bakers trudge into the Bake-Off tent: a cramped, hastily-built wooden structure, half of which has been somewhat gutted out by a past fire. Most of the surviving wooden tables therefore are crammed into the short space left untouched by the blaze, alongside the single remaining stone oven.

As the contestants awkwardly shuffle for space in these cramped conditions, they are soon joined by the hosts of the competition: Susanna and Melody, resplendent in medieval gowns and wimples. The pair smile enthusiastically at the sullen bunch before them whilst a minstrel group start up the opening theme music.

"Welcome to Week Five, bakers," Susanna announces, excitedly. She pauses for a moment to heighten the tension already present within the tent. "Pie week. Dust off your sacks of flour and prepare yourselves for a good filling." A faint, polite titter passes through the tent.

"As you all know, bakers. Last week's dessert challenge saw our very own Much-" Melody gestures towards a beaming Much. "- win Star Baker for the fourth time in a row. Last week also saw, however, half of the tent being destroyed after Prince John decided to sabotage everyone else's desserts with fire."

From outside the tent, a whiney voice pipes up.

"My fig pudding was the real show stopper," the prince shouts, in his thin, raspy voice. "Why does Hood and his men always ruin everything for me?" he adds, folding his arms sullenly.

"Unfortunately as Sherwood is a royal forest and as Prince John outranks us all, we can't _physically_ make him leave. We can however supply him with wine if he promises not to come into or set fire to the tent again," says Susanna. Djaq raises her hand. "Yes, Djaq?"

"Why are we being told this again?" she asks. "We all remember clearly what happened."

"This is just to remind the audience," Susanna replies, as she gestures to the avid group of villagers watching through the large hole in the side of the tent. The group clap loudly and wave homemade banners with one villager even starting to yell angry comments about 'sabotage' and 'cheating'. One of Prince John's guards soon escorts him away.

"Alright, bakers. Now this week's showstopper challenge features you all making Lady Mary of Bury and Sir Percival d'Evreux a large pie. The pie itself can either be sweet or savoury and can consist of whatever filling you choose. It however must be both pleasant to look at and delicious to taste. Any questions?" The bakers shake their heads wearily. "You all have three hours. So… on your marks-"

"Get set," Melody pipes up.

"Bake!" Both women chant together.

From his own table, Sheriff Vaisey drinks wine and watches as his three peasant 'volunteers' begin to chop up chunks of meat and vegetables into a huge cauldron. Like Prince John, he resents Much's earlier success and with a sly grin, thinks of the trick he has up his sleeves.

Wandering around the tent, the excitable hosts first corner the outlaw giant, Little John, as he begins to cut up a large chunk of beef.

"So, John," Susanna asks. "What are you baking today?"

"A pie," the large man sullenly replies.

"With what filling?"

"Meat."

"And what kind of meat are you using?"

"The kind you bake into a pie."

They leave him to it. From the audience, a woman villager stands up and starts loudly chanting John's name. With his straightforward, no-nonsense answers, he is slowly becoming the fans' favourite and the chant picks up until a guard hushes them.

Next to John, Much begins to mix his pastry ingredients together. As the outlaws' cook, he has the most experience of baking in the tent… and he knows it.

"So, Much," Melody smiles. "Are you hoping for your fifth consecutive win?"

Much looks up, his face reddening slightly as he notices the audience staring at him.

"I- I would like to win again," he stammers, before raising his head proudly. Food always is a topic he likes to talk about. "But it isn't just about the winning, you see. It's about the food, and our passion for it and- Damn it, Allan! That was my toe."

"Sorry, Much." His handsome outlaw friend shoots the audience a smile as he side-steps a pained Much and the hosts . "Mind where you put your feet," he also adds, under his breath.

"So, Much, what do you plan to cook today?" Susanna asks, as she peers at the small pale chunks of meat Much had recently diced.

"Chicken," Much answers, a little too hastily. "Chicken pie."

"Not being funny, mate," Allan says, as he looks over his friend's shoulder. "But that's one small-looking chicken." He picks up a bushy tail hidden under a pile of vegetable peelings. "When do chickens have tails like this?"

Much stammers, snatches the tail and shuffles out of the tent, muttering about 'finding more chicken'.

Unable to cook too close to the outlaws for fear of her secret alliance with them being discovered, Marian instead is forced to cook at the same table as her ex-betrothed, Guy. He immediately decides to take up all the space with his equipment and, as she opens her mouth to complain, shoots her yet another dirty look. Annoyed, Marian takes a knife and viciously starts to peel her apples. She has never been taught how to cook and had only agreed to take part in this show with the other castle residents as her father is a huge fan of the show. He is even sitting in the audience now, wearing a Marian badge on his tunic and waving a small Knighton flag.

Over in his corner, Robin can't help himself. It seems every second, he is having to stop and grin at the audience. They all love it and cheer whenever he does so.

"So, Robin," Melody breathes. "What are you cooking for the judges today?"

"Pigeon pie, Mel," he smiles, proudly showing the hosts and the audience the contents of his mixing bowl. "And if all goes to plan, it'll be big enough to feed the entirety of Locksley village." He grins again at the audience, causing one female member to loudly swoon. The Sheriff overhears this and takes another deep swig of his wine cup, rolling his eyes as he does so.

From outside the tent, Prince John begins to drunkenly (and loudly) hum his out-of-tune version of 'Just Can't Wait To Be King'.

Within the tent, tensions begin to heat up. A bad-tempered Guy throws his dough about the short space, muttering loudly enough for everyone to hear about German counts and being friend-zoned at his own wedding. An even crosser Marian only fuels his rage more by slyly throwing more logs under his cauldron, until the sudden acrid smell of burning turnips stops his rant mid-flow.

Next to Guy, the Sheriff lulls about on his makeshift throne, barking orders at his servants. He is already on his second wine jug of the day and is now loudly threatening to hang everyone if he doesn't win.

Djaq is quietly and meticulously measuring out her ingredients so as to create the perfect balance of flavours. Like Marian, she has minimal experience with cooking but she enjoys the scientific side to it. Susanna and Melody join her.

"So what exotic dish are you presenting us with this week, Djaq?" asks Melody, pleasantly, barely concealing her excitement at talking to the renowned Saracen woman.

Djaq looks at them blankly. "I'm making rabbit pie."

"What spices are you adding?"

"Rosemary perhaps…"

The hosts walk away, bitterly disappointed.

At the back of the tent, Will is hammering together a wooden structure. He wipes at his forehead and steps back to admire his work. The hosts gleefully join him.

"So, Will, what are you making today?" It's Susanna's turn to ask the familiar question.

"Well, I'm just adding some more supports to the tent structure and then I'm going to look at extending it. Although not until I clear these burnt bits, and-"

"No, Will, what are you going to bake?"

"Oh…" The carpenter scratches his head and looks back at the fire damage. "Probably a pork pie once I've sorted this out."

"We hate to sound pushy but you've got a time limit, remember?"

He nods absently and returns to the structure. Next to him, a sulky Allan folds his arms and leans against a blackened beam.

"Damn it, Will. You knew I needed your help this week," he hisses, as the hosts move away. "Pies ain't my thing and no one else will help me. You know I really want to win this prize money…"

"Sorry, Allan, but I'm needed with this. Plus they only won't help you because you'd expect them to bake it all for you."

"Not all of it… Mostly just the pie itself." Allan shrugs, watching the others dash about. "Well, if you're not going to help me, I'll just have to find someone who will." He then heads off in Much's general direction.

"An hour left, bakers," Susanna announces, loudly.

On his throne, the Sheriff has fallen into a wine-induced slumber. Snoring loudly, he rolls forward and lands face-first into his pastry. His 'volunteers' do not dare to wake him.

Robin is being interviewed yet again by Melody. He banters with her, winks at the enthralled audience and then winks at Marian for good measure. She merely blushes furiously in reply and returns to awkwardly prodding her apples as they boil in her cauldron.

"Robin," Melody laughs, somewhat breathlessly, her eyes glittering as she gazes at the handsome man before her. "As an outlaw, do you find much time to practice baking?" From somewhere behind her, a stressed Much manages a snort.

"No, no," Robin chuckles. "My time is rather spent helping defend the good people of England from the harsh injustice inflicted by _him_-" He gestures to a snoring Sheriff. "-and _him_." He points towards the edges of the tent where a faint rendition of songs from the Lion King can still be heard.

Melody stops for a moment and sniffs the air uneasily.

"What's that smell?"

From over by the stone oven, Allan chortles.

"Whoever's made the lion-shaped pie, it's a little hot! Like on fire hot!"

A horrified look crosses Robin's features. "My pigeon pie!" he groans, racing towards the oven.

On Guy and Marian's squished table, Guy is muttering loudly yet again about the unfairness of life and glowering at everyone. Marian, whilst tending to her own pie, pauses, thinks about Knighton Hall, and, when Guy isn't looking, pushes his pie to the very back of the oven.

"So, John, how's it go-?" Susanna begins.

"Pie it is. Meat is in it. Leave me alone to bake it!"

On a spare table, Will is sawing through planks of wood. He is reminded, yet again, that it is a baking competition.

By the oven, Guy glowers at Robin as he pulls out the blackened mess that would have been his showstopper. It must have been Hood, he thinks, crumbling the cremated pastry remains under his gloved fingers. Marian smiles to herself and continues to neatly arrange her apples into a rose design.

From his table, Much stares at his pie filling. He could have sworn he had cooked more meat than that.

Allan also stares at his own pie filling. He really doesn't think that's chicken.

"Fifteen minutes left," Melody coughs. "Oh my, it's a little smoky in here."

Carefully removing his third attempt from the oven, Guy carries it over to the table. However, before he reaches the safety of his work surface, he is knocked aside by Robin, who is on his second frantic dash to the oven. Thankfully, for him, two guards grab Guy and escort him from the tent before he runs Robin through with his sword.

The Sheriff wakes up with a start, calls for more wine, threatens everyone again and then stumbles outside for a piss.

Marian lays out each apple piece intricately but is reminded by Melody that she still actually has to _bake _her pie. Realising her error, she too dashes for the oven but collides into Allan along the way. With Much having gone outside for air, Allan was sneakily removing his friend's pie from the oven and swapping it with his own poor excuse for a pie. Much's pie ends up like Guy's- splattered all across the floor. Allan therefore removes his own (intact) pie from the oven and retreats back to a safe distance.

Much returns, somewhat more refreshed and calm than before. He spots the scattered remains of a lovingly (and more importantly, evenly) baked pie, spread out across the dirt floor, and sinks to his knees, loudly cursing the heavens and everyone else in the tent. In tears, he too is escorted from the tent.

"Five minutes left, bakers!"

At this moment, the minstrels raises their herald trumpets and play a fanfare as the noble Lady Mary of Bury and Sir Percival d'Hollywood enter the tent. In her snow white wimple and dark blue gown, Lady Mary stares aghast at the chaos before her. Sir Percival, in his best Lincoln green tunic, merely looks bored. They take their places on the judging thrones.

The Sheriff stumbles back into the tent after them and starts yelling about his missing tooth.

"Time's up, bakers," Melody calls. "Judgement day is upon you all."

A solitary voice from the audience pipes up: the local priest. "BLASPHEMY!" he roars.

Djaq's creation is first up. She presents what the judges regard as a 'well-sized pie' with a 'good, hearty meat filling'.

"So what exotic spices have we to look forward to?" Sir Percival asks, an excited glint in his eyes as he cuts himself a slice.

Djaq sighs. Not this again. "Parsley and rosemary," she mutters.

The judges concur that whilst the pie is delicious, they were hoping for something a little more 'Out(remer) there' for their tastebuds.

Outside, as she is interviewed by Susanna and Melody, Djaq is aghast.

"Just because I'm Saracen doesn't mean that everything I cook is necessarily spicy! I actually for one like rabbit pie." she exclaims. "And where do they think I'm going to get the spices from? Do they just think the spice trade stops off in Nottingham?!"

Inside the tent, Will is showing the judges his modifications.

"- and we now have a retractable, camouflaged roof for sudden enemy attacks, as well as specialised chimneys to remove excess smoke and-"

The judges happily admire Will's handiwork.

"Now that is truly excellent, William," Lady Mary smiles. "But have you got anything for us to taste?"

Will's expression falters and he shuffles his feet with a sheepish eye drop.

"Ah," is all he can say.

John is next to present his pie. The judges compliment its size and flavour but question its overall simplicity. From the audience, John's chief fan squeals and flings her well-worn underdress at him. The tent is then evacuated for a few minutes whilst the guards remove both the offending item and the offending fan.

When he is being interviewed, John questions the judges' comments: "A pie is what they asked for, and a pie is what I made them."

Robin's pie is next. Sir Percival particularly admires the lion shape of the pie and asks Robin's intention behind it.

"It's a reminder just of what my men and I are fighting for: England, under its rightful king. Richard," he adds, loudly, for the benefit of an eavesdropping Prince John.

Lady Mary and Sir Percival smile at that and go to cut the pie before both jumping back in horror as a flock of live pigeons emerge from the cut pastry top. Robin's mouth falls open in shock. Guy sniggers. The Sheriff roars with laughter. Even Marian struggles to keep a straight face.

"I swear it was cooked thoroughly," Robin babbles, as a furious Lady Mary rounds on him.

Outside the tent, Prince John rubs his hands together gleefully.

Marian's pie is judged next.

"Too raw. Not as raw as Robin's but still not cooked enough," Sir Percival concludes. "Next."

Amongst the audience, a disappointed Sir Edward rips the Marian badge from his tunic and moves to sit with the John fans instead.

"Now, Much," Lady Mary says, with a kind smile. "We were both so very impressed with your baking last week. Your tart was stupendous. What have you got to offer us this week?" Her smile soon falters as Much sheepishly presents the mushy pile of what remains of his showstopper.

"I never expected… Chicken, you say? I've never expected chicken to taste like this," Sir Percival says, as he takes a hesitant bite. He quickly spits the offending piece of meat out into his handkerchief. "Next."

Much's bottom lips trembles and he excuses himself from the tent. Allan looks down horrified at his own pie. If Much's meat was so obviously not chicken, then wouldn't they figure out he stole his Much's pie filling? There is only one thing he could do: destroy the evidence.

The judges sample the Sheriff's pie; his 'volunteers' having long since been escorted from the tent.

"Delicious," mumbles an evidently nervous Lady Mary. "A very… bold creation."

A loud crunch comes from Sir Percival, followed by a pain-ridden yelp.

"Bold," he mutters. "A bold choice." He coughs out a whole tooth and the shattered remains of his own molar. "I think this belongs to you," he adds, passing the Sheriff his fake tooth.

Lady Mary takes one look at the half-cremated remains of Guy's pie and moves on hastily. Guy merely scowls at Robin and clenches his fist.

"Now, Allan, what have you got for us?" Sir Percival says, his mouth mercifully no longer bleeding.

The judges take a bite of Allan's pie, both pausing and giving each other a quizzical look as they chew.

"Why is it just pastry?" Lady Mary asks, uneasily poking at Allan's creation with her eating knife. "Did you even bother to fill it?"

His mouth crammed full of pie filling, Allan can only shrug his shoulders and make half-human noises. Lady Mary scowls in disgust at him before ordering the tent to be emptied of the contestants.

Outside, Will happily chats to the hosts.

"It's such an achievement to be made Star Builder this week. I don't know what to say."

Marian too is interviewed by the hosts, but her response is less joyful.

"I have no idea why we're even doing all of this. Has anyone actually told the Sheriff or Robin that there's no cash prize?" she asks, incredulously, still trying to wipe flour from her gown. "How do you think they're going to react when all they win is the Star Baker title?"

Sat with his back against a tree, Allan struggles to raise his head; a queasy expression resting on his features.

"Whatever that meat was," he groans, clutching his belly, "it's not good."

Before long, the bakers are called back into the tent. They traipse in nervously, all but Allan, who remains outside in a 'chicken'-induced trance. From her vantage point on the stage, Lady Mary surveys each contestant with a stern expression.

"This week has proved to have its ups and downs for all of you- mostly downs, I'm afraid to say. However, it is still a marked improvement on last week's Bake-Off as, at least this week, most of the tent is still intact."

"Look, Mary," Sir Percival grins, as he plays with the tent's new roof lever. "It goes up and down." Lady Mary only frowns and waves to the hosts.

"So Star Baker this week was a unanimous decision. The pie this baker made was delicious, well-presented and in one piece," Melody smiles. Both Djaq and John look up with some interest. "This week's Star Baker goes to… the Sheriff."

As the Sheriff whoops and Guy politely, albeit sullenly, applauds, the other contestants exchange a knowing look. The audience however is less reserved in their response and begin to shout out. They are soon quietened down by the guards present.

"And our decision was in no way influenced by the fact that Sheriff Vaisey has our families held hostage," Susanna adds, quickly, in a low voice.

"Unfortunately, we also have to say goodbye to one of our bakers this week. Whilst we'd love to keep all of you, we're going to have to say goodbye to one of you… Will, this week, as you were the only member not to present anything edible, you will have to leave," Melody sighs, and holds out her arms to Will, who merely shrugs and grins at the news. "Well done at least on fixing the tent." Both her and Susanna then envelope him in their arms.

"This extension is amazing," Sir Percival exclaims, above the din of the other contestants commiserating with Will. "Any chance I can hire you to extend my hunting lodge?"

Ignoring the sullen response to his victory, the Sheriff hops onto the stage and throws an arm around a disgusted Lady Mary, who hastily slips out of his grip.

"Weekend truce over, Hood," he hollers, raising yet another wine jug. "Guards, get him! See you all next weekend." Laughing maniacally to himself, he then stumbles forwards and falls off the stage.

Susanna and Melody turn back to the audience as the guards chase the outlaws from the tent and back into the forest. With wide grins, they go to end the show.

"Thank you for joining us for yet another exciting week on the Great Anglo-Norman Bake-Off," Susanna says. "Join us next week to see who will rise and who will end up a bit flat in bread week! Until then though…"


End file.
